


Girls Should Be Protected

by russosino



Category: Identity V Stage - Suehara & Tanaka & Yamada, 第五人格 | Identity V (Video Game), 第五人格 | Identity V (Video Game) RPF
Genre: Character Study, Coordinator, Cowboy x Coordinator, Emotional, F/M, Hurt, I Will Go Down With This Ship, I ship Cowboy and Coordinator, Kevin x Martha, Martha x Kevin, Mentions of cockroach and donut boy, Oneshot, Sleep, Swearing, Two Cs make Chanel they so boujee, cowboy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-16
Updated: 2021-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-25 09:21:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30086925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/russosino/pseuds/russosino
Summary: Kevin stretched his arms out before him, turning them here and there, and saw that they could not stop shaking.
Relationships: Kevin Alonso & Martha Behamfil, Kevin Alonso | Cowboy/Martha Behamfil | Coordinator, Martha Behamfil & Kevin Alonso, Martha Behamfil | Coordinator/Kevin Alonso | Cowboy
Kudos: 6
Collections: Identity V





	Girls Should Be Protected

**Author's Note:**

> I have nothing to say, I just really love this couple. Independent, headstrong, "I don't need a man" Martha, and simpering, gentlemanly, super strong Kevin with BIG admiration for her.

_“You cannot awaken a man who is pretending to be asleep.”_

_Navajo proverb_

* * *

Kevin loved the fire in her eyes. The hard set of her lips.

He loved the way the ends of her ponytail curled onto her bare nape.

Her wrists were shockingly bony and thin underneath her brown leather gloves; he supposed he could loop his thumb and finger over them, with room to spare.

His gaze fell onto the woman next to him, slumbering peacefully. In the night, her brown hair faintly resembled black twine billowing over the stark white plumpness of the pillows.

He watched the shallow rise and fall of her chest. The shafts of moonlight filtering in from the windows washed her a pale luminescent blue. His breath caught in his throat. Struggling, dying away.

_“Don’t get in my way Alonso.”_

A soft sigh leaving her lips. She stirred. Eyes still shut, she turned away from him, the sheets rustling in quiet protest as she did. A gentle snoring resumed.

_“Martha, you need to heal---”_

_“Fuck off! There’s no time. They’re past the line.”_

The room had a hushed sort of silence to it. Though, outside, he was not quite sure it would be the same. These odd folks kept odd hours. Like what-was-her-name Fiona? The one who always kept a hood on, always carrying those heavy old tomes with funny symbols that sent a deep unease into his spine. There was (Norman? Norton?) a prospector who had a wicked burn over his forehead.

Merely looking at it made his skin throb. The prospector had eyes that were hard, which glinted with an old sort of _greed_. Greed, which Kevin knew all too well, was all too familiar with.

Kevin did _not_ like him.

_“I’ll rescue them myself. I’m strong enough.”_

His throat tightened, with a sudden lump in it. He couldn’t lose her again. Not Martha. Not his fiery Martha, with her guns ablazing, and lips that tasted like honey, and the sharp jut of her chin when she was aiming her flare, the hard furrow of her brows, and wrists like china---

He caught himself there. His knuckles hurt. Looking down, he found that he had balled up fistfuls of the comforter into his hands.

Kevin stretched his arms out before him, turning them here and there, and saw that they could not stop shaking.

Before the _her_ that was Martha, there the _her_ that was Angelina. A name long uttered, but still bitter on his tongue. He let his head hang. His forehead felt hot. There would be no more _her_ s after Martha. She would be his last.

Martha would live, by his hands. By hook or crook. He thought this, silently, in the room that seemed to suddenly get colder and brighter.

_“That sick, skinny sonofabitch is waiting for you to go to him. He, **will** , down, you! I have to prime the cipher. I want to help you, god, I do, so help me Martha. My lasso is all gone. Don’t do this to me.”_

_A short, barked laugh. She looked up from the beat-up cherry chest she was rummaging through._

_“Wake up, Alonso. Be a man. Let me **go**.”_

She didn’t need a man.

But he needed her.

“…Can’t… sleep..?”

He turned, with a rising twinge of panic. Martha was facing him, groggy with sleep, and grit in her eyes, her lips barely moving. But her hand was on his hip, warm and reassuring.

“No. I was just… thinking.”

“Alright. Hold your thinking cavalry.” A sleepy, low giggle. Always her horse jokes. He sometimes forgot that she was of fine gentry stock. The eldest daughter of a rich, respectable family, replete with riding and finishing classes, an expensive boarding school, the full works. “Its late… go to… bed.” A barely stifled yawn.

God. He watched her eyes flutter close. His heart was heavy, and full, fit to burst at the seams. He ached so much; **god** , he loved her so much.

He bent over her, carefully, and gingerly pressed his lips to hers. He hoped his mustache didn’t make her itch too much. His nose brushed past the softness of her cheek, and he smelled the soap from her shower.

She hummed in contentment, a gentle buzz against his lips. “Love you, big boy.”

Then she fell silent, and the slow, rhythmic breathing filled the air once again. In, out. In, out.

Kevin slid down, flat onto the bed. Grasping past the covers, he found her warm, chapped hands, and felt her painfully delicate wrists. He closed his eyes, seeking fitful rest, and his body granted him release.

So would come the next day.


End file.
